The Chair
listening to: ankhain - strings
thinking about: aarrrgghhhh
(Trying my best to set aside the momentary fit of anger i'm currenlty undergoing)
Anxiously avoiding all the surreptitious glances that surrounded her, she swiftly paced her way to the desolate chair in the corner of the library. She could only think of one other person who sat there at times like these; her conscience forced her to shrug off the thought before it caused her greater misery.
She carefully set her books in front of her and plonked on to the chair. Even the polished table in front of her looked at her with contempt, proudly showing off it's immaculate finish. Before she let it distract her, she swung her handbag around the width of her chair and let it hang from one of its sides. As she looked up, she briefly noticed her reflection in the glass doors of one of the inner offices. The bags under her eyes seemed more prominent than ever, and for a split second, she thought she could even see their redness appear on the door. She had never been one of the prettier ones around, but the fact that she could ever look like that ripped her to pieces. Her self-esteem and confidence further plummetted into a darkness they would never return from.
It's her. She's doing this to me. I should have never chosen this place to sit in. I'll never be able to study in here. What on earth made me think i could do it? Why, of all the places on this huge campus did i have to choose the library? Why the chair that she once sat on?
When she finally found herself back in the library, she flipped open to a page and stared into it blankly. Ever since it happened, she was so accustomed to fighting back her emotions that it came as a sort of natural action, a reflex to her. Once again, she was at it with full force, not giving in to the intensity of the piece in front of her, and the perfect correlation it had to her life.
The words were shooting at her like a thousand - no - a million arrows, piercing her eyes until the tears inevitably began to pour. The ink on the pages instantly formed what seemed to be a black hole in the centre of the page; a large,black, gaping hole that symbolised her existence.
thinking about: aarrrgghhhh
(Trying my best to set aside the momentary fit of anger i'm currenlty undergoing)
Anxiously avoiding all the surreptitious glances that surrounded her, she swiftly paced her way to the desolate chair in the corner of the library. She could only think of one other person who sat there at times like these; her conscience forced her to shrug off the thought before it caused her greater misery.
She carefully set her books in front of her and plonked on to the chair. Even the polished table in front of her looked at her with contempt, proudly showing off it's immaculate finish. Before she let it distract her, she swung her handbag around the width of her chair and let it hang from one of its sides. As she looked up, she briefly noticed her reflection in the glass doors of one of the inner offices. The bags under her eyes seemed more prominent than ever, and for a split second, she thought she could even see their redness appear on the door. She had never been one of the prettier ones around, but the fact that she could ever look like that ripped her to pieces. Her self-esteem and confidence further plummetted into a darkness they would never return from.
It's her. She's doing this to me. I should have never chosen this place to sit in. I'll never be able to study in here. What on earth made me think i could do it? Why, of all the places on this huge campus did i have to choose the library? Why the chair that she once sat on?
When she finally found herself back in the library, she flipped open to a page and stared into it blankly. Ever since it happened, she was so accustomed to fighting back her emotions that it came as a sort of natural action, a reflex to her. Once again, she was at it with full force, not giving in to the intensity of the piece in front of her, and the perfect correlation it had to her life.
The words were shooting at her like a thousand - no - a million arrows, piercing her eyes until the tears inevitably began to pour. The ink on the pages instantly formed what seemed to be a black hole in the centre of the page; a large,black, gaping hole that symbolised her existence.
